


Just Between Friends (Stop Saying That, People Will Get Ideas)

by Rikkamaru



Series: Miracles in Skyrim [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassin!Hanamiya, Bard!Imayoshi, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikkamaru/pseuds/Rikkamaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanamiya and Imayoshi meet up at a tavern. They then discuss where life's taken them, one an assassin and one a bard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Between Friends (Stop Saying That, People Will Get Ideas)

“My, my, if it isn’t Hanamiya,” an unusual accent drawled from the shadows of the tavern, but Makoto was already turning, drawing a pair of daggers and glaring into the darkness for a moment before he snorted and sheathed them once more. The voice continued, amused. “Took your sweet time gettin’, didn’t ya?”

“Imayoshi,” Makoto said back, acknowledging and annoyed all at once. He stepped over to the table in the corner where he saw his old mentor, and took a seat across from him as Imayoshi waved another round for their table, idly strumming his lute with the other hand. “You’re as frustratingly early as usual.”

“And you’re as painfully late as always,” the older man said cheerfully, not sounding bothered at all as he strummed a few more chords in what sounded like something they would have hummed in their childhood in Solitude. “But truly, I do wish ta know. Why did you call for me? And in such a manner; it was so mean of you to leave a note stabbed into my pillow. The Brotherhood spoils you, allowin’ ya to get away with such rudeness.”

“Please,” Makoto scoffed, accepting the drink placed on the table with little more than a grunt as his acquaintance smiled and paid the woman. “The Dark Brotherhood lets me get away with murder.”

Imayoshi chuckled appreciatively at that. “I imagine they would.” The music he was strumming slowed, stopped, and was replaced with a jauntier tone. Around them patrons subtly perked at the music, and conversation picked up noticeably. But Imayoshi didn’t speak again, and Makoto had to drain half of his tankard before he could speak again.

“Do you know a Grivr from Windhelm?” He asked, watching as Imayoshi returned his narrow gaze onto him from their previous skimming of the room. “We’ve received a contract. They performed the ritual and will pay handsomely. You’ll get a cut, of course.”

“Of course,” Imayoshi repeated back plainly, mockingly, and his hands didn’t pause as they shifted to another song. This one was a song familiar to the room at large, and soon a number of patrons had begun a bawdy rendition of it that had the others laughing and clapping along. “The name seems familiar. I believe Windhelm received a man by that name recently that works at the docks. He’s been roughing up some of the Argonians there from the sounds of things. Not a very popular man.” For a fleeting second Imayoshi’s eyes opened enough for Makoto to get a look into the grey, and the burning anger he saw there somewhat surprised him.

“I take it he’s been bothering some of your people?” He tried for casual, and knew that he failed as Imayoshi shot him an assessing look before huffing out a small laugh and nodding.

“You could say that. The fences are having a fit since he’s from some no-name thieving group and is filching some of the good stuff. And, to add insult to injury, he’s not even that _good_ at it either, and it’s making the guards up security over in Windhelm.” He shook his head, honestly disgusted, and Makoto could sympathize, though not in the way Imayoshi was likely aiming for.

“Why do you do this, Imayoshi?” He asked, in a rare moment of honest frustration at his old mentor’s change in profession. “Why be a bard? You don’t want to maintain history; you don’t want to make people happy. Why did you give up being Guildmaster of the Thieves’ Guild?”

The two had always been very upfront on their groups and position. Imayoshi knew the moment Makoto had been made leader of the Dark Brotherhood, Astrid handing the reins over to him so that she could simply enjoy taking lives once more without not having to delegate who does what in their group. And Makoto likewise was made aware of Imayoshi’s promotion to Guildmaster, and later on stepping down, on the days they happened. They may get annoyed with one another quite often, but they were all they had for the longest time, their parents barely noticing their existence in Solitude, so they kept one another up to date on their wellbeing when they could.

They were all they had, and Imayoshi’s abrupt decision to abandon his passion had set Makoto’s teeth on edge for the longest time, but he never brought it up until then. And Imayoshi acknowledged that. With a sigh, the bard began to play a slightly slower but still iconic song, getting him a cheer from the crowd at large. “Think, Makoto,” he said, immediately ensuring the other’s attention with the use of his first name. “Who has near unrestricted access to anything? Who can walk into military outposts and rebel camps without being in either group with no difficulty? Who can spend their entire day in the jarl’s building without being in the inner council? Who can ask nearly any question without receiving immediate suspicion?”

Makoto opened his mouth to answer, then paused. He thought over his answer, and slowly said, “Bards…”

“Exactly.” Imayoshi’s lips curled up in a smile so cruel, so self-satisfied and pleased, that Makoto’s nearly did the same on instinct. “And,” he added, “let’s just say that I haven’t completely resigned from my position as Guildmaster. As a bard, let’s also say that I can case a place faster than most other thieves. So I find a good hit, and I let the others know, and everyone is amazed at the Thieves Guild’s near psychic awareness of valuables across all of Skyrim.”

Makoto had to give to him; this was devious and definitely up to Imayoshi’s standards in terms of cunning. That left only one question, then. “If that’s the case, why take so long to hand over the reins to the new leader?”

Imayoshi snorted, so soft it was nearly lost in the tavern as raunchy song after raunchy song was sung, all under the influence of Imayoshi’s lute. “I needed ta train up the one I wanted ta take over. Originally, the only one with enough skill ta take over and the ambition was Haizaki, and I’ll kill the kid myself before I let him fuck up and make Nocturnal turn against us again. We didn’t need a new Mercer Frey. So I found two others who were near _perfect_ ta take over, brought them up ta par, and made Mayuzumi the new Guildmaster with Kuroko the one that trains up the new recruits after Brynjolf snares them in. Among other things.” The way he said the last part implied there was a little more to the story in terms to the two he was speaking about, but that seemed more in-guild than not, and Makoto knew better than to try and wheedle it out of him. 

“So now you’ll just travel through Skyrim, cleaning out houses as you go, all under the guise of a simple bard with a desire to see everything?”

Imayoshi’s smile was still self-satisfied, but there was an undercurrent of happiness there that Makoto hadn’t seen since they were children. “Did ya imagine I would do anythin' less?”

The laugh escaped before Makoto could stop it, draining the rest of his drink and swiping Imayoshi’s, making the older man shoot him an annoyed glare in response. “I suppose not. And I guess I won’t give you a cut this time. After all, killing this man seems to be doing you a favor.”

When Makoto lifted the tankard to take a sip of the drink, Imayoshi’s foot moved from its lazy placement by his chair, tipping the cup and making it spill down Makoto’s front. The assassin swore as the former thief laughed back at him. And not once did his hands stop, a puppeteer leading his marionettes through song after song. Truly, the assassin mused as he eyed his old friend, Imayoshi hadn’t given up his passion so much as fully realized it.

And Makoto was happy for him, even if he’d die before he’d say that out loud.


End file.
